The Comfortless Comfort

I hear the radio speaking to me,
speaking of fuzzy kittens lost
under houses ready to burn
at the first spark. Where
are the rains to douse the fires
raging in us, tearing down the trees
we planted to protect our inner houses?
Where is this barricade, this fence
that helps us make our neighbors friends,
hiding cats hunting mice
in secret holes in the boards and trees,
peaking out with their shining eyes,
lifting feet to scratch their heads,
afraid the movement attracts the cats
lurking --- pounce! Death is immanent
as it's tossed in the air. We must agree
that we feel more for the mouse than we relate
to the cat, having been tossed too many times
into the air ourselves,
an air filled with waves, sending sounds
invisible, inaudible to us, inviting our neighbors
in, asking them to make themselves comfortable
in the seat of our being, a place once protected---
no more.
No more, lest we lose ourselves
within ourselves, staring
into the darkness that tempts us in,
into comfort, protection, permanent
comfort and protection, a death before death
we cannot endure to see in others
as we peer from our hold in boards and trees,
afraid it could be us, wondering often
why it isn't,
why our terrors were far less worse
than theirs, wondering
when it will be our turn, having
felt the darkness creeping, drawing
our eyes to it, into the warmth,
the comfortless comfort.